


Some Kind of Love

by yuffiehighwind



Series: An Eternity in Cheese Country [30]
Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Dual Identity, F/M, Milwaukee, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-01
Updated: 2003-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It couldn't be actual kinship, friendship, some kind of love. There had to be outside factors involved. Yes, he was drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the 'fic series "An Eternity in Cheese Country," and here's why - after they were killed by Callisto and Xena, the souls of Strife, Discord, and Deimos were reincarnated in the late 20th century into three humans named Steve, Veronica, and Dave.

She knew he couldn't be serious when he said she should sever the wires to the nightclub's electrical system. Or cut the phone line. Or hide out in a dumpster 'til the cops gave up. Because dumpsters weren't her style. He knew this. They'd find something better. Something even less conspicuous. Old ladies and ancient cats lived in Steve's apartment building. Who would have ever searched for perps there? The neighbors would never have ratted out sweet _Veronica_. She was too considerate, taking up their groceries and feeding their cats.

They didn't know she killed one of them and Steve got a new one from the animal shelter to replace it.

Nobody noticed Steve did all the work while Veronica raked in all the credit. No one bothered. Not on the Zombie Death Floor of Perpetual Night. But inside Veronica lurked Discord, and the war goddess had lived lives upon lives longer than they had and was blessed _(cursed?)_ with the firm ass of a fresh youthful immortal. Or at least she used to be. It wouldn't last so long this time, she knew. She pushed this to the back of her mind and he _could not_ be _serious_. But he was. And they did it.

The girl shot David a look she'd given Deimos a thousand times, a thousand years before, and no, they didn't hide in the dumpster. They crashed at Steve's, because Steve Was Conveniently Not There. 

Steve, who used to be called Strife, would not have approved. He didn't like Deimos. He never liked Deimos. He was intrigued by Deimos' birth and was mildly appreciative of Deimos' body and energy, because Deimos and Strife seemed to be One, in a way. No birth on Olympus was random. Some cosmic joke joined all new arrivals. Strife and Deimos were both a mystery in their making. Aphrodite and Ares were known to shack up - the one mate of her twin's Discord didn't entirely disapprove of, just rolled her eyes at - and the three fruits of their union were Deimos and his siblings. He was the youngest, not surprisingly. The eldest - Cupid - held Strife's interest as well. He was hot. Very hot. He was Love. He had a bow and arrow to fling It with. Deimos was not blessed. He was cursed with Strife's odd and unattractive visage. Gods didn't have genes, they had Luck. Luck was a bitch. (Discord had met her once.)

Strife could be handsome. He was, now. Discord noted this with some shame. She was not supposed to be appreciating her cousins' looks. She was not supposed to be breaking into - _breaking into? It was her home too, wasn't it?_ \- Strife's apartment with his doppelganger right now. She was not supposed to repeat History. Strife never knew about her and Deimos. Strife was dead at the time, or here. She didn't know. Discord often hoped she'd wake up from this dream that she grudgingly called her new life. 

Strife was not always handsome. Strife could _be_  handsome. He used to be a lot of things. He used to melt into walls, faceless in crowds, and be anybody he wanted to be. She recalled one time that he feigned being a student in Corinth. He was handsome then. It didn't last, to her disappointment.

 _Pinch._ There it was again. Wrong, wrong, and awful shameful disgust. _Strife was not handsome._ Strife was a lot of things, handsome not being one of them! Neither was his doppelganger. They were swinging open the door and popping open the wine bottles because they were Fugitives On the Run from the Law, not because there was some other funny business going on. _No, no, never that. Never again._

But with the pouring wine - and the giddy retreat from the club, and the riot, and Cherile's ruined concert - came the inevitable comradery of Chaos Caused and Shenanigans Past. They'd breathed this sort of thing as gods. It was like a new high - which they had missed in this drab mortal world  - giving them release, at last. Uplifting them with a new purpose, new energy. They rambled on, sentences colliding, collapsing on the couch in fits of giggles, about the plans they had, the schemes they'd concoct. It would be a new Greece, a new time without Twilight. A new day dawned, and they would Rule the World like they'd always hoped and dreamed. It would be fun. 

Wine made one giddy but also tired. With the fatigue came the low, slow drawls of times past and philosophical musings along the lines of Why Me, Why This Fate? Or musings on the nature of Good and Evil and why evil always had to be beaten. Then the determined denials of such defeat and the reassurance along with a flip through the newspaper of all the terrible deeds done that week that Evil Always Won because Good was Stupid. Eventually Evil would triumph because that was the way of things. No silver lining for the righteous. No, it would be fun, they nodded and reassured each other. It would be a smashing time. 

Then came the hard liquor, to warm them up, because the night wasn't over, not at 2:00 a.m. It was just beginning. Then came the tossing around - like frisbees and balls - of Strife's prized possessions and expensive trinkets given by a boyfriend gone across the sea. Discord fished around in the former owner of the apartment's old room, where much of his discarded stuff still remained, and she and Deimos played with it and broke it and made a general mess of things. Deimos then suggested they see how fast some of the heavier stuff would fall - Newton's laws and such. See if the humans really were so up on things without their gods to guide them. And so the window was opened and bums on the sidewalk ran for cover. Neighbors, even the Living Dead next door, complained, banging on the walls, but they just laughed. _He couldn't be serious,_ Discord had thought. Of course he was. Deimos had always been serious, especially about the most trivial and unimportant of things. The only stuff the man cared about. Fun. What was fun. What pleased him at the moment - screw the consequences.

That was why he kissed her. 

Discord didn't move. Couldn't move. He couldn't be serious. He couldn't possibly be serious. This was bad - nay, worse than bad. This was terrible! Deimos was kissing her. And she was liking it, but she didn't move. Didn't even shut her eyes for fear of letting go and forgetting that this was Deimos kissing her. Deimos. Who she sought out earlier that very evening for this very purpose, but had shut the thought out of her mind in the vain hope she'd come to her senses - He'd say something that pissed her off and she'd toss him out. He hadn't, which was new, and scary, and bad. Very bad. Deimos hadn't pissed her off since that day in the park. Had he then, really? Of course he had. He did that. A lot. 

Discord didn't need to move, because he did it for her. 

"So."

He stepped back, mouthed the word just barely and turned his head to gaze out the window at the street, at the trash below. Discord stood there staring at him, unreadable. 

"Well."

This was going just great. Two words. Two great minds thought alike. 

"That was . . . "

". . . uh . . . What I meant was . . . "

"Maybe we shouldn't . . . "

"Know whatcha mean, right, ah . . . "

 "'Cause it'd just be . . . "

". . . a mess. Right."

"You see?"

 "Yeah."

Then why was skin touching skin again? Why were her eyes closing, mouth opening, and why was she letting this happen? Her palms pressed against his chest and Discord's brain sent them the message to push away, but it was intercepted by her body, and her fingers curled to grasp at his shirt and pull him closer instead. His hands moved to her hips, next, feeling out the curve there, thumbs rubbing at where her shirt just barely met the top of her pants, worming underneath and brushing at bare skin. Her small palms smoothed up his chest to wrap around his neck. The subtle urge to _strangle_ him was there for a fleeting second, keeping the rest of her feelings in check, making sure all of her instincts weren't gone quite yet. She fingered the soft fabric at the collar of his shirt. Where did his shirt end and throat begin? Their thumbs journeyed upwards to behind ears and smack went lips. Faces merged and arms wrapped around and two bodies appeared one, at a glance. 

Up went her shirt, because his hands just couldn't stay on her hips. No, his hands had to roam up her sides, over her abdomen - their target her chest. Discord thought of unhooking her arms and reaching for the sky so the fabric could slide up and off, but this was a Very Bad Situation. Nakedness would make it worse. She did it anyway.

She remembered that before, at home, Deimos had no willpower to ever be this gentle. She considered that being human - being David - had changed him. Or perhaps it was just the alcohol. It could have been any number of variables. Discord told her brain to just shut up and enjoy the sensations while they lasted. She couldn't remember _any_  of her lovers being this gentle with her. Not even Ares, in the beginning, when he genuinely cared. She could no longer remember Ares caring, and felt better about enjoying this. 

So up went her shirt. Ruining the moment, as usual, it wouldn't come off her head like watery silk, like in Strife's movies or Aphrodite's stories. No, the pair had to struggle with it, but then the fabric fell to the floor, and his hands were back at her sides. She sighed, and shivered. It was getting cold. Deimos put that gentle but firm grip back to skinny hips and pushed Discord away from the window. It was open. It was autumn. Cold. Warm hands smoothed it away. 

Discord wasn't thinking too much, but while the thought of open windows - pushing him through was an option - passed by, she looked up into those windows of the soul - the one those human philosophers used to angst about - and saw an eerie gentleness there. Deimos - _or David?_ \- was smiling and didn't look scary for once. Just . . . It had to be the wine, Discord reasoned. Or the, uh, vodka? Or the orange juice. With the vodka. It couldn't be actual kinship, friendship, some kind of love. There had to be outside factors involved. Yes. He was drunk.

**Author's Note:**

> -Cherile is Dave's girlfriend. She is in a punk band.
> 
> -Strife disguised himself as a student at Hercules' academy in S1E1 of Young Hercules, "The Treasure of Zeus: Part 1."
> 
> -This takes place Autumn 1999.


End file.
